A View Across the Rooftops: An epic, heart-wrenching and gripping World War Two historical novel

by Suzanne Kelman

  Something struck Josef. “It’s like music,” he mused.

  “Music,” echoed Michael. “That’s what we need, music.” And he raced toward the stairs.

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Josef hissed after him. “It’s after curfew.”

  But before he could say any more, Michael was down with the wireless in his arms. “We won’t turn it up too loud.”

  They sat there listening to a lively version of Handel’s Messiah for another hour, drinking and finishing the wine. Michael laughed and joked about the times he’d shared with Elke, and Josef thought about Sarah. It brought warmth to his heart for a change.

  All at once, a big-band number crackled onto the wireless and Michael started to cavort around the room, dancing. Josef watched him, shaking his head.

  “Come on, Professor, come and dance.”

  “I don’t remember how to dance,” Josef rebuffed.

  “I will teach you then.” Michael grabbed hold of him and pulled him to his feet. Both feeling the effects of the wine, they danced briefly with awkward enthusiasm before finally falling back down into their seats, out of breath.

  Then they began to laugh. A long, free-flowing, barreling laugh that seemed to fill the whole house. Michael rocked back in his chair. “I haven’t danced like that for so long, not since…”

  “Not since this war began?” Josef suggested, out of breath.

  “Elke,” Michael responded. “Not since my Elke. If we both survive this war, all I can hope for, all that I dream of, is that we can marry. She spoke once of converting for me. I pray every day that she will have the chance. So that we can be together, for eternity.”

  “I wish I could have found her for you,” Josef responded regretfully. “I asked everywhere I could think of, but it’s seen as rather odd when an older man is asking about a student so fervently, and I didn’t want to get her into trouble.”

  “Of course, I understand. But she’s out there somewhere. I know she is, and she’s waiting for me like I’m waiting for her. When I see her next, I’m going to hold her and I’m not going to let her go.”

  A sadness passed over Josef.

  Michael seemed to catch it. “You’re thinking about Sarah, aren’t you?”

  Josef felt shocked. Since the incident with Sarah’s wedding veil, her name hadn’t been mentioned in the house.

  “Your wife,” Michael corrected himself.

  “Yes.” His voice cracked.

  “You don’t have to say anything, Professor.”

  Josef forced out the words; he needed to say it. “We were very much in love, too.”

  The music continued to play softly in the background, and the air was filled with a joy that the walls of the house had not known in a long time. As the night passed, the two men continued to share with one another their hopes and dreams and stories about the people they’d loved and left behind.

  Michael told the story of how he had fallen in love with Elke the first time he had seen her in the university grounds and Held told him how he and Sarah had met.

  “We were practically set up by my mother. Sarah and her family were new to our village and my mother invited them to our house to eat. Aged twenty-seven, knowing of my mother’s plan and resenting her interference, I had made up my mind to be very rebellious and no matter how nice this girl was I was not going to be polite, let alone fall in love with her. Little did I know Sarah had similar ideas, and so we spent a very awkward dinner trying our best to avoid speaking to each other. But as the evening passed, I started to find myself attracted to this girl with the wild red hair who seemed aloof and indifferent to me. It wasn’t until we were forced to wash up side by side in the kitchen that she confessed her own mother’s matchmaking plan and her distaste of it. We laughed at our predicament and made a pact to never be friends, a pact we found impossible to keep. Our parents thought the whole evening had been a disaster but the opposite was true. I knew, even as she clattered the dishes onto the draining board, that she was different. I liked her carefree independence, she was so comfortable in herself, and she just… intrigued me. We didn’t let our parents know for months, and when we finally announced our engagement they were all so shocked.”

  Held smiled with the warmth of the memory.

  By 2 a.m., they had slipped into a happy, companionable silence and were about to start winding up their evening, when they were shaken from their complacency by the jarring slam of two car doors outside. They both froze in terror. Michael grabbed hold of the wireless and bolted up the stairs. Josef heard the attic door close just as a knock came at the front door.

  Frantically, he looked around the kitchen, trying to figure out where to start. As he hastily moved dishes to the sink, he heard Ingrid giggling on the doorstep as Heinrich hammered on the door again, shouting, “Come on. Let us in, I have an urgent need!”

  He managed to grab the last items—the wine glasses—from the table and hide them from view before breathlessly approaching the front door.

  The drunken couple stood on the doorstep singing a clumsy Christmas carol. They practically fell inside, laughing.

  “Uncle Josef!” boomed Heinrich, taking him in a huge bear hug and grabbing his chin. “We are sorry to call so late but I need to use your bathroom,” he slurred into the professor’s face, his breath reeking of alcohol.

  Josef was too concerned for Michael to allow himself the full weight of his rage. Rage that roared just under his skin and made him want to punch this man, even though he wasn’t a violent person. As Heinrich stumbled into the downstairs toilet, Josef gritted his teeth and dug his nails into his palms to calm himself. Wasn’t it enough that the Nazis felt they had a perfect right to oppress them on the streets and at work? What made them think they had the right to assault people in the middle of the night in their own homes?

  Ingrid stared at him through her drunken stupor. “We were on our way home, but he couldn’t quite make it,” she slurred.

  Josef pulled himself together. He would not allow this horror to snatch the joy from his heart. Instead, he chose to remain calm, dwell on his time with Michael and all the good that had taken place this evening. Once Heinrich had used the lavatory, they would be gone; Josef would not allow them to rob him as well as assault him.

  Ingrid swallowed hard and he noticed she was looking a little green.

  “I need some water,” she garbled out and started tottering toward the kitchen.

  Josef raced to keep ahead of her and double-check that the dishes were cleared away. But as he reached the kitchen all the air left his body. He had entirely forgotten the menorah. It was still lit in the middle of the table. How would he explain a Jewish menorah sitting in his kitchen?

  In a split second, he ran to the table, slammed his hand down on the candles, and, hiding the menorah behind his back, turned to face Ingrid, who was tottering to the sink. Melding the wire configurations together, he attempted to mold it into a different position, fighting the desire to yell out as the hot wax burnt his fingers and ran down the back of his hands.

  Ingrid drew a glass of water, and as she turned, her attention was caught by something on the ground. She stooped down to the floor and Josef followed her gaze. It was the poem that Michael had written for him. His mind raced through the words that he could remember. Was there anything, anything in his friend’s poem that would alert her to the fact that someone was in the house, that Michael was his friend, that a Jewish person was still living in Amsterdam?

  Heinrich appeared in the kitchen and leered over Ingrid’s shoulder. “Well, well, well,” he said in a derogatory tone, “what do we have here?”

  He snatched the poem from Ingrid’s hand and looked at Held, who was concentrating all of his effort behind his back, mashing and mangling the wires together.

  “Poem for Josef?” Heinrich started to read out the poem in his harsh German tone, his alcoholic slur sullying the beauty of Michael’s words. When he finished, they both looked at Josef expectantly
.

  Josef just stared back.

  Heinrich swaggered toward him, waving the poem in an accusatory fashion. “I know what this means.”

  “We have suspected it for a long time, Uncle.” Ingrid wobbled by Heinrich’s side. “We know the truth. We know what you’re hiding.”

  “What do you mean?” gasped Josef, trying to control the searing pain spreading through his fingers as beads of sweat collected under his spectacles and ran down his nose.

  “It’s time we dealt with this,” Heinrich rebuked him. “You have got away with it for long enough.”

  “You must tell us the truth,” Ingrid agreed.

  Josef held his breath, then stumbled through his words. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Heinrich towered over Josef.

  “I really don’t understand what you mean,” said Josef, backing away.

  “A little secret,” responded Heinrich, slamming down his hands and bearing all of his weight upon Josef’s shoulders. He pulled his face closer. The smell of alcoholic fumes was putrid, suffocating him. “You… have… a woman!” Then throwing his head back, he roared with laughter and slapped him on the back. “Good for you!”

  Josef felt the tension leave his body. He had been consumed with panic, contracted, tense enough to snap. With overwhelming relief, he realized they hadn’t guessed the truth, they hadn’t known about Michael. Michael was still safe. That thought ran through his mind over and over again in a manic loop.

  Inconspicuously, he dropped the mangled Menorah behind him on the table.

  Ingrid wagged her finger at him. “I wondered when you didn’t want to meet Ursula.” She staggered forward and squeezed his arm. “It’s about time. It has been a very long time since Aunt Sarah died.”

  His legs gave way then, and he found a chair and fell into it.

  “Look at him,” said Heinrich. “He is overcome that we have figured him out. She’s not up in your bedroom right now, is she?” boomed Heinrich raucously, swaggering toward the door.

  “No, no,” said Josef. “She left a little while ago.”

  Heinrich stared at him. “A little while ago? I should be angry. There is a curfew, but since you are family…”

  “Next time, let her stay the night,” Ingrid implored. “We want to meet her. I’m so looking forward to us all being one big, happy family. We can all spend Christmas and New Year’s together. I could have a party. We could also invite our friends from work.”

  “Ah,” was all Josef could say.

  Heinrich stumbled again, and Ingrid grabbed hold of him. “I think we’d better go,” she said, catching Heinrich. They swayed toward the front door.

  Josef followed behind them somberly.

  “Good night, Uncle Josef,” said Heinrich in a singsong way as he waved behind him. Ingrid staggered along, trying to hold up her fiancé even though he was twice her size.

  Josef waited until he heard the car pull away then locked the door and bolted to the attic. He was surprised to see his friend sitting on the tea chest—rather than hiding—at the far end of the long dark room, staring out through the cracked window pane. He looked out upon the endless rooftops and seemed hypnotized by the luminous moon that hung heavy in the night sky.

  Joining him, Josef sat next to Michael and stared out the window too. “They’ve gone.”

  “Did you manage to hide the menorah?” asked Michael, the anguish obvious in his tone. Josef looked down at his red, raw hands and nodded.

  Michael looked shocked as he noticed them too.

  “The minute I got back up here, it’s all I could think about and the fact that if they’d seen it…”

  Josef took a deep breath. “I had to destroy your menorah, Michael. I’m so sorry.”

  They sat in silence for a few seconds.

  “It’s a miracle they haven’t found me yet. Have you noticed they are coming more regularly?”

  Josef nodded. “And now they think I have a girlfriend.”

  Michael stared at him. “What?”

  “They found your poem and were sure it was from a woman.”

  Michael started to laugh.

  Josef joined in. “They want us to get together for Christmas and New Year, one big, happy family.”

  Michael roared. “Won’t they be surprised when they get to meet me?”

  The men’s laughter rocked the attic.

  After a while, satisfied, they slipped back to their companionable silence. Michael shook his head. “I’m tired, Professor.”

  Josef stood. “You should get some sleep.”

  “No, I mean tired. I’m tired of the hiding. I’m tired of the waiting. I’m tired of always having to hold my breath, hoping it’ll be just one more day then I will be free.”

  Josef looked back out toward the moon, now partly covered by swirls of smoky gray cloud. “Who would have thought we would have done this for nearly four years? I can’t believe it myself.”

  Michael hung his head. “Talking about Elke tonight made me realize how much I really do miss her. Most of the time I try not to think too much about her because it still hurts so much every day.”

  Josef nodded. He understood this pain.

  “It kills me that she’s just out there somewhere, and the worst of it is she doesn’t even know I’m alive.”

  Josef stared at the floor. There was nothing that he could say, nothing he could do. They were all victims, and yet so many people had died. Being grateful to be alive was sometimes the only way he was able to face each day.

  “Get some sleep,” he repeated. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He started to make his way out of the attic when suddenly Michael was behind him, enveloping him in a huge heartfelt hug. Turning, Josef hugged him back just as tightly.

  “Thank you, Josef, for all that you’ve done for me. You have no idea how much I appreciate it. I never knew anyone could be this kind.”

  Overcome with emotion, Josef pulled out of the embrace and nodded, pushing his spectacles farther up his nose. “Well, yes. It’s the least any of us can do in this horror that we are living through. I have great hope for you, Michael Blum,” he added, trying to lighten the mood.

  Michael nodded.

  Josef turned to close the door, as Michael returned to the tea chest and staring back out the window into a world that he could see but not touch. Josef felt his pain as he moved back down the stairs.

  The next morning, as Josef opened his eyes and looked around his bedroom, he felt the heaviness from the late night, the wine, and the food. His head pulsed and his mouth was dry. He groaned slightly as he looked at his clock. It was late, but at least it was Sunday; he didn’t need to go to the university today.

  He rolled out of bed, put on his slippers, and made his way downstairs to get a glass of water. A pile of dirty dishes remained in the sink, and the mangled menorah still sat on his kitchen table. His heart felt heavy for his young friend. He felt terrible that he had destroyed his Hanukkah gift. Maybe he could try to fix it today.

  He made his way up to the attic, but even before he opened the door, he knew that something was wrong. There was a coldness, a chill.

  Inside, everything was different. The pictures were gone from the wall. The furniture that Michael had used to create his seated area had been piled in the corner. The bookshelf was empty. And the desk that, for years, had been buried under a mass of papers was now bare, everything apparently packed away in a box in the corner, all except for one book.

  Shocked, he looked to Michael’s bed to make sense of it all and was surprised to find it folded up and placed against the wall.

  He stumbled around the room, trying to understand, not believing what he was seeing. As he took in the sterile environment, it rendered him breathless. It was as if Michael had never been there.

  Josef didn’t know what to do.

  Numbly, he moved to the desk, to look at the only book not packed away. An advanced calculus curriculum. Josef huff
ed. A joke. Michael had hated calculus. He picked it up and walked to the window, where he pulled out the tea chest and sat down to look around the bare room. As he did, something slipped from the cover of the book. A piece of paper with one word written on it. “Elke.”

  That’s when it hit him.

  Michael was truly gone.

  Standing looking out of the window, he was surprised by the heavy salty tears that started to flow freely down his cheeks as he grieved, not only for the loss of his friend but for the hostile world that now awaited Michael outside the safety of the attic.

  Chapter 25

  Elke crunched her way through the crispy undergrowth on her well-worn path. It was nearly December, and it was cold. She shivered and pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders. Why was she still doing this? Honestly, she didn’t know, but it had become a ritual for her now. Each day after work, when it wasn’t too cold or too rainy, she’d head to the woods. It was for the exercise, she liked to tell herself, and it was good for her to get out in nature. A chance to breathe and clear her head before she went home.

  Though she told herself this, she knew that deep down in her heart she still held out hope that maybe Michael, one day, would be there waiting for her. It had been so long since his disappearance. She knew it was probably futile to believe that he was still alive, or still in Amsterdam, for that matter. She’d heard tales of Jews being hidden by members of the Resistance. But surely, if he were here, he would have found his way to her by now?

  Still, it helped her to hold on to the familiar. The woods were known to her now, the seasonal anchor that gave her hope that one day she would walk them in a time of freedom. She circled a branch of a downed log, her feet moving at a click toward the center of the forest and the place that was significant to her. Her heart was able to pull her here with her eyes closed.

  When she stopped to catch her breath for a second, she heard something behind her. Something rustling through the leaves. In all the times that she’d walked here, she had never met anyone this deep in the woods. Most people stuck to the primary pathway if they were walking their dogs or getting exercise. But the path that led down to her tree was isolated, and it was always quiet. It had to be some woodland creature, she decided as she carried on walking. But just in case, she upped her pace, just a little.